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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021790">flight of the silverbird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>F(r)ight [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, CPR, Drugs, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd is a good brother, Light editing we die like robins, Near-death Experiences, Panic Attacks, Protectiveness, Sad, Scarecrow’s fear gas, but has a very low opinion of himself, mentions of child death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:42:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it’s Tim that’s fear-gassed, but Jason that’s having the heart-attack. </p><p>Companion piece to “The Night king”<br/>For SmileyBear, that asked for Jason’s Pov.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jason Todd &amp; Tim Drake, Tim Drake &amp; Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Conner Kent, Tim Drake &amp; The Batfam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>F(r)ight [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732768</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>582</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>flight of the silverbird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: as usual, I own nothing. </p><p>For SmileyBear, that asked for Jason’s Pov. Thank you for your lovely review &lt;3<br/>The song this was written to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-Dh3ftkRAs<br/>also, I’m aware Canon!Tim often goes with the victim-blaming narrative DC uses for Robin!Jason ( he was violent, he was reckless, he got himself killed ,..... <em> shakes fist at Dc</em>) but ain’t nobody got time for that. Timeline-wise, the Robin Tim followed the most probably was Jason.<br/>I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jason helps Damian up from where he’s fallen on the rooftop, and sighs.</p><p>And the night had started so well, too.</p><p>As well as any night Jason and the bats teamed up ever went. Arkham breakout nights are usually bad when Scarecrow was involved.</p><p>It’s a clusterfuck of a situation either way.</p><p>Together, they’d made short work of defeating Scarecrow. Three Robins for one measly villain might have been a bit overkill.</p><p>Still. When it came to the Rogues, safety was in numbers - if you asked Jason, at least. Besides, it’s been a long night. Full of fighting, already. He’s just making sure none of the others try to steal his title as the dead sidekick. He needs something to lord over Bruce.</p><p>Case in point, Scarecrow’d gotten in a lucky shot, having managed to throw a canister of fear gas at Damian. The kid hadn’t had time to dodge and had went down like a sack of bricks, as rancid green smoke had exploded all over him.</p><p>Scarecrow had <em>not </em>lasted long after that.</p><p>Thankfully for the villain’s bodily autonomy, the kid doesn’t seem to be injured. His armor’s done its job. He’s just winded from the fall, and he’s quick to push Jason away.</p><p>“Sleeping on the job, brat?” He smirks, doing his best to bury the <em>tiny </em>sliver of concern he might have felt when he’d seen the kid go down.</p><p>“Hardly,” Damian sniffs. Jason checks both his rebreather and for an eventual head injury under the guise of tousling his hair. It’s intact. The kid also is, judging by the look of that eye roll. His sass’s growing by the day, Jason’s ever so proud. “Some of us have a work ethic to rely on.”</p><p>“Oh, is that what that was? Familiarizing yourself with the city, were you?”</p><p>Damian’s face darkens the tiniest bit.</p><p>“Getting real up close and personal if you ask me,” Jason teases. Damian’s downright scowling now. “-I can introduce you to some of the gargoyles, if you’re that invested.”</p><p>That usually would make Tim snort or start teasing Damian, too, at the very least.</p><p>Surprisingly, that doesn’t happen.</p><p>Jason turns.</p><p>The kid’s frozen in place.</p><p>“Red?”</p><p>Tim gasps in some air, green-ish air<em>,</em> Gotham’s air that’s full of smoke and chemicals, and most importantly <em>fear gas. </em>That normally wouldn’t be a problem; but his re-breather’s cracked<em>, </em>and any hope Jason had of it still working is thrown out of the window by the way the twerp’s still staring at where Robin had been on the ground. He’s looking at the spot like it’s a gateway to his very own personal hell<em>. </em></p><p>How the kid manages to stay so expressive, even with his mask on, Jason doesn’t know.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>“Hey, Red,” He tries in what he hopes passes for a soothing tone.</p><p>Tim takes off running.</p><p>Jason swears viciously under his breath as he tears off after him.</p><p>They don’t make it far, barely to the edge of the roof before Tim skids to a stop. It’s abrupt, it’s messy, it’s way too close to the drop for Jason’s comfort.</p><p>“No, no, no.” He mutters in a hoarse voice, looking at the bare expense of the roof.</p><p>He’s unnerving in how calm he looks, when most grown adults would already have been screaming their lungs raw.</p><p>“Red,” Jason tries again. To hell with code-names, they’re way past that. “Tim.” and that gets a reaction. Not the one’s Jason’s hoping for, though.</p><p>Tim tries the jump to the next roof over with barely any momentum to guide him. Rolls with his landing. Then, he’s off again.</p><p>Next is a game of cat and mouse Jason never wants to experience again.</p><p>It doesn’t last long, just long enough for Jason to realize that Tim has no freaking idea what’s going on around him. He’s hallucinating to hell and back, which, yeah, is to be expected when high on fear, but they’re also hightailing it from<em> rooftop to rooftops, Jesus fucking Christ- </em></p><p>Tim’s not going to make the next jump. He’s not bracing for it.</p><p>Jason realizes that in in tenth of a second. Tim’s not preparing himself to jump, because Tim has no idea there’s even a jump to be made right there.</p><p>He puts on a desperate burst of speed, panting harshly under the helmet.</p><p>He jumps, trips Tim, and rolls them to a stop, barely a feet away from the ledge, from the sudden drop. Jason faintly registers how he’s whispering his name over and over as he tries to calm his own racing heart.</p><p>“Tim. Tim. Tim. <em>Tim</em>. C’mon, snap out of it.”</p><p>Nothing seems to get through his thick skull. Jason tries again.</p><p>“Tim. It’s alright. It’s just me.”</p><p>Restraining him’s not that difficult. Tim isn’t moving. Now that Jason’s caught him, he’s not fighting, not making a sound, hardly any breathing at all in fact.</p><p>Jason takes a second to wonder if any of that’s because he’s the one doing the restraining. He tries not to think too hard about what Tim could be seeing. If Jason’s in any of it.</p><p>“We can call N, we can call him right now if you want to. He can be there in ten.”</p><p>Tim’s breath stutters, then tapers off entirely.</p><p>Jason secures his hold with one hand, and uses to other to try to guide him, to get him breathing again.</p><p>He tries to mimic Bruce the best he can. That’d always worked the rare time or two he’d been fear-gassed as Robin.</p><p>“Breathe in to the count of eight,” he says, and demonstrates with his hand and his own breathing. He’s in dire need of some centering, too. So sure him, he’s an adrenaline junkie, but that does not mean he enjoys snatching Robins back from the jaws of death. “-Hold. Breathe out. Pay attention to your heartbeat, keep it under control. <em>Steady</em>. Breathe with me, Tim.”</p><p>Tim’s fingers are drumming an unsteady beat against his own thigh. He doesn’t look like he’s doing it consciously. But he’s started breathing again, and Jason’ll take any little thing to help them get out of this mess. There’s a rhythm to it, though it’s not morse code, or any other code that Jason knows.</p><p>They both stare down that spot, the one that’s way too many stories down, for god knows how long, and he tightens his grip around Red Robin’s middle again.</p><p>“Scarecrow’s in police custody. I’m in possession of a sample of the new strain.”</p><p>Jason’d almost forgotten the comms were on.</p><p>He hears, more than see, Robin land on the roof they’re on.</p><p>“Nightwing’s on his way with the Batmobile.”</p><p>“Thanks, kid.” Robin gives a terse nod, and Jason pulls himself up. Tim follows without a single sound of protest. ‘S freakier than the screaming would be. “ETA?”</p><p>Dick replies before Damian can.</p><p>“Five-ish. How’s he?”</p><p>His first, dizzy, thought is ‘Not a smear on the pavement, thank fuck.’, but even Jason’s not big enough of an asshole to say that to Dick.</p><p>“Five what,” he asks instead, shaking his head. “-minutes? Hours?”</p><p>“Look down.” Dick replies, and it’s just cheeky enough to finally settle Jason’s nerves a bit.</p><p>He hates that Dick still has this kind of sway over him, even so many years later.</p><p>Sure enough, the car’s there, engine quietly purring. He watches as Nightwing gets out, flips showily to sit on the hood, and makes a gesture that could have been a corny two-fingered salute.</p><p>“Ass.” Jason says, making a one-fingered ‘salute’ back.</p><p>Robin snorts, then jumps down. Jason wants to yell, but the kids fire his grapple with time to spare and everything, unlike what Dick and himself would have done. So he can’t.</p><p>“Sorry, squirt,” Jason says as he puts bat-quality handcuffs around Tim’s wrists. “-but I’m not risking it.”</p><p>No acknowledgement.</p><p>It’s fine. He’s not trying to hurl himself off a roof anymore. Jason can work with that. At least until Alfie injects a hefty dose of fear-antidote into the kid.</p><p>When they make it down, Dick and the batbrat already are back in the car.</p><p>“Red Hood deliveries: in a catch, we dispatch.” He says cheerfully, as he dumps Tim in the back seat of the car. “Strap him in.”</p><p>Damian does as he’s told, and Jason goes to rummage through the emergency field kit.</p><p>“Kid? Heart rate?”</p><p>“Around 200. Climbing.”</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>He barely feels the car start moving.</p><p>“Agent A? We’re on our way back,” Dick announces.</p><p>“Understood, young sirs.”</p><p>“Hey, Alf.” Tim says, suddenly, and he even sounds relieved. It’s shaky, at best, but still, it’s reacting to his environment, he’s still calm, in a way, and that means they still have time to fix this. They have time as long as Tim keeps fighting the stuff.</p><p>“Master Tim,” Alfred replies warmly. It’s tea by the fire in winter, and heated Shakespeare debates in summer all at once, and Jason can feel more of the awful tension seeping out of his back. “In a spot of trouble, are we?”</p><p>Whatever clarity Tim had’s lost, already. Alfred seems to realize that.</p><p>“I will prepare the med-bay, as well as the decontamination shower for Masters Timothy and Damian.”</p><p>“Thanks, Alf, you’re a lif-”</p><p>The end of Dick’s sentence drowned out by the sudden cut-off gasp that comes out of Tim’s mouth.</p><p>It’s an ugly sound, like something’s drowning.</p><p>Jason hates fear-gas.</p><p> </p><p>--------------</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It takes them almost three entire minutes, and Jason keeping up a constant stream of-</p><p>“C’mon. C’mon, Red, breathe. That’s it, just like that, nice and easy, kiddo, yeah, keep your eyes open for me, okay? It’s gonna be okay, but you gotta breathe, nice and easy. You gotta keep -”</p><p>To get Tim to settle again. To get him to keep trying to get his heartbeat under control.</p><p>Survival rate for prolonged exposure to Scarecrow’s toxin isn’t high.</p><p>On the way back to the Cave, Tim breathes.</p><p>Tim can’t seem to stop inhaling. He can’t seem to exhale quite like he should, but Tim breathes.</p><p>It’s better than what they’d had a few minutes ago.</p><p> </p><p>-------------</p><p> </p><p>The next hour passes in a fog, almost. It passes in some kind of unreal lull, as Stephanie works with Bruce to create an antidote, but it takes time. Too much time.</p><p>They’ve strapped Tim to one of the gurneys. Jason hasn’t left yet, even though he knows he should. He hasn’t because every time he tries to leave, Tim gets worse. And for some reason, him talking keeps stress level manageable.</p><p>Maybe something about keep your friends close, but your enemies closer? That seems like Tim’s style. Maybe his subconscious likes to know where Jason is, at all times.</p><p>So instead, he’s still here, keeping an inane babble about Bruce and medication going while his kid brother’s panicking to death next to him.</p><p>Fun times.</p><p>He’s not the only one that’s keeping close. Dick’s blowing off some steam on a punching bag. Cass’s spotting him. Damian’s occasionally snorting at whatever bullshit Jason’s spouting.</p><p>He hasn’t left either.</p><p>“Robin doesn’t exist.” Tim whispers, and the next kick Dick spins into is violent, almost botched by their standards.</p><p>Jason’s not sure how to react to that. Of course that’d be part of the twerp’s fears.</p><p>“Stop blathering, Drake,” Damian says. He’s as uncomfortable as Jason’s ever seen him. “We’re right there.”</p><p>Tim’s fingers drum faster against his thigh. The rhythm’s lost now.</p><p>They get ten more seconds of silence, though Jason wouldn’t qualify it as calm anymore, before it all goes to shit.</p><p>“KON-EL.” Tim shrieks at the top of his lungs, all semblance of countenance forgotten. “KON-EL.<em> KON</em>.<em> <strong>Kon</strong></em>.”</p><p>Distantly, they hear the sound barrier break.</p><p>“Down.” Jason barks to Damian, and pushes him behind him roughly. Dick’s taken up point in front of both of them. Jason’d be moved by the gesture, if it weren’t for Damian’s benefit.</p><p>The violent rush of air’s not unexpected. A glass case shatters. Papers fly and scatter around them, and Tim’s chokes on what sounds like relief when Superboy appears, floating a meter above the ground, face twisted into something enraged.</p><p>His eyes are glowing red.</p><p>“What the<em> fuck </em>'s wrong with him?!” Conner Kent snarls, looking Tim over. “What the fuck have you done?”</p><p>“Stand<em> down</em>, Superboy.”</p><p>You know you’re in for it when Nightwing uses the angry team leader voice.</p><p>No one can argue against Dick’s team-leader voice.</p><p>Jason decides to trust that Dick’s got things well in hand, and turns back to the rapidly deteriorating panic attack behind him.</p><p>Turning his back to an angry Kryptonian’s not the smartest thing to do.</p><p>Right now, he doesn’t give much of a crap.</p><p>“C’mon, kiddo, that’s it, that’s nice, in and o-. B. <strong>B </strong>! He’s going into card-”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>It gets worse from there.</p><p>Kon pacing a hole into the Cave’s floor is not helping.</p><p>“That’s it.” Bruce says, harried. His hair’s wild, like he’s ran his hands too many times through it. They just got Tim to stabilize again. “I’m-”</p><p>“Mr Wayne-” Tim immediately replies, and they all freeze. It’s the most they’ve gotten out of him since he crashed the first time. Jason’ll take it, even if Bruce looks gutted at the ‘Mr Wayne’ part. Or maybe that he’s part of Tim’s hallucination. “If you’d just-”</p><p>He stops talking. They’re losing him again, and, no.</p><p>No way in hell.</p><p>Scarecrow doesn’t get to kill the kid.</p><p>“Tim, sweetheart,” Bruce tries, once he’s injected the antidote in Tim’s arm.</p><p>“You listen to me, you infuriating little piece of shit,” Jason snarls, because anger is infinitely easier than panic at this point, and he’s tried being soft already. “I’ll drag you back from the gates of hell myself, kicking and screaming if I have to, I don’t fucking give a rat’s ass. You don’t get to give up, you hear me?”</p><p>Kon’s staring at him, not quite frowning but close.</p><p>“We were?” Tim pipes up.</p><p>Jason’s very close to punching something.</p><p>“Hey, little Wing,” Dick says, and the softness hurts. It’s not angry, it isn’t his team leader voice, but it works all the same. “Take a break. Calm down. Just a few more minutes until the antidote starts to act.”</p><p> </p><p>-----------</p><p> </p><p>Tim doesn’t make it ten minutes.</p><p>“Fuck. Fucking hell, Timbo, not like this.”</p><p>“30. Then we switch.”</p><p>He nods. His chest hurts.</p><p>“Clear. C’mon, Timbit. Don’t do this to us.”</p><p> </p><p>------------</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They get him back. They glue a miracle together with some stubbornness and sheer fury and they get him back.</p><p>Jason <em>fucking hates</em> fear gas.</p><p>What a shit way to die.</p><p> </p><p>-----------</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s one hell of a long night, waiting for Tim to wake up.</p><p>Jason stays in the room until he can’t, until Bruce’s humming gets on the last of his nerves. Until Dick’s kicked puppy look as he guards Tim’s bedside frays his temper enough to drive him out.</p><p>“Jason.” Bruce calls, before he can leave the room entirely.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Thank you.” Bruce says. He looks and sounds sincere enough.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>He leaves but doesn’t make it very far. Just far enough to get some privacy, but still hear what’s going on in that room.</p><p>He needs a moment.</p><p>Jason can’t let himself be dragged back in the family. He can’t. The fallout of that had hurt too much the first time.</p><p>It was easy not to think about it when he had something to do, a problem to solve, someone to save.</p><p>Now that they’re just standing around like morons, waiting for the kid to deign wake up, it’s all Jason can think about.</p><p>He’s let his guard down. Sometimes when he wasn’t looking, they let themselves in again.</p><p>
  <em>He had to do CPR on his kid brother.</em>
</p><p>“Tim.” He hears, and Jason’s on his feet, like he’s a guard dog or something, spying as Bruce carefully brushes strands of sweat-soaked hair from the kid’s forehead. “Shhh, sweetheart.” He hears him whispers</p><p>Tim’s wailing like someone’s ripped his heart out.</p><p>He sees Bruce brushing his thumb against Tim’s cheek slowly. And he <em>can’t</em> be here, <em>he can’t</em>, but he can’t leave, either. “Shhh, it’s alright.”</p><p>Tim wails harder, and, <em>fuck it</em>.</p><p>Staying away won’t make it hurt any less when something happens.</p><p>“Shhh, sweetheart. I’ve got you. It’s alright. Scarecrow had you. But we got you back Robin, it’s alright, we’ve got you.” Bruce croons.</p><p>Jason sits next to Tim on the bed, and flicks his nose.</p><p>“Hey there shithead,” He says. Yeah, he might care. He might even be okay-ish with that. “-thought you could get rid of us that easily, did you?”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What Jason says: “You listen to me, you infuriating little piece of shit. I’ll drag you back from the gates of hell myself, kicking and screaming if I have to, I don’t fucking give a rat’s ass. You don’t get to give up, you hear me?” </p><p>What Jason means: “Don’t die you fucking moron, we’re your family, we love you.” </p><p>What Tim hears:  “You and Jason could have been friends. Casual acquaintances, maybe. He doesn’t hate you. Maybe. It’s a toss up, really.”</p><p>thanks for reading! take care of yourself &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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